If you’re anything like me, you look forward to conversations with those who know you best. They are the ones who know how to reach into the deep waters of your soul and draw out your imagination. I was reminded of that the other day when I spoke with a friend. Although we hadn’t talked for a while, it wasn’t long before we returned to our familiar banter as if we had never been apart.

We used to talk about dreams of venturing out into the high seas of life to discover uncharted paths that lay somewhere hidden in the future. At the center of the pursuit was a reckless chase after God. To follow him was a test of courage and risk, plunging us out of comfort and into the fury of his love.

I remember the passion that dictated his life. When he would play his instrument during our worship services, he would spontaneously begin to dance before the Lord. My soul would be stirred as I watched his passion. When someone wanted him to stop, I was asked to talk to him about it. I waited for the right moment and then asked him, "You know how you start dancing and wiggle around whenever you play up on stage?"

"Yeah," he replied.

"Well, I have a question for you. Do you dance like that during practice when no one is watching you?"

A grin spread across his face. "Oh, yeah!" he replied. Who was I to tell him to stop dancing? If people didn't understand his passion or were jealous of his foolishness (2 Samuel 6:16), that was their problem. He didn't just stand still, he danced. He wasn't afraid to dance, or perhaps he couldn't help but dance.

That summer we climbed mountains and pushed each other to reach peaks and experience views that others were content to only hear about. His passion for the Lord gave birth to a passion for life and it infected me and others around us.

But our conversation over the phone the other day never reached the dream stage. His voice was no longer alive as it once was. There was no talk of what lay ahead, only talk of trying to get through the day. His voice held the tone of ordinary surrender to routine. How I longed to call out to that place in his heart I once knew so well, a heart that would drop everything to run after God. Unfortunately, it couldn't be reached because there were too many distractions and things he was holding onto.

If there was only one thing that stood between him and his dreams, it would have been easy to wake him. But what stood in his way were hundreds of smaller delusions. They were not dreams, for they held no imagination. They were things that moth could consume and rust would destroy (Matthew 6:19). I recognized them so easily because they had clouded my mind once as well.

The things of this life and the prestige that is often attached to them promise us life if we can somehow attain them. But they are so ordinary. There is nothing imaginative in them. They are toys. Perhaps we fill our lives with them because we are more comfortable staying children--playing with these trinkets that lull us into a false sense of security. Growing up means facing our fears and moving beyond them into the great adventure we have been created for.

Before us stands the epic story of our lives and the history of the world. Do we dare run after what really matters? In the Great Commission, Jesus called us to run to the ends of the earth. He also gave us the promise, "and I am with you always." Translation: You're not going without me.

The choice is ours to follow the heartbeat of Jesus Christ. Those who have been born again have a new heart that beats for the things of God. It is uncomfortable, for this heart beats faster and we must travel light to keep pace with it. But it is when we release all the gravity from the stuff of earth that we are light enough to walk on water. The stones we sling will travel with ease through the air to befall the giants that mock us. It is then we will be of sober and sound mind and awake enough to live in our dreams.

The dead, though they sleep, are forbidden to dream
Yet greater cause for rest have they
Than those who walk, yet slumber,
Who forfeit their right to imagine.